


Cevze

by klingonvalhalla



Series: Coffee For Breakfast [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: FTM Will, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klingonvalhalla/pseuds/klingonvalhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post season three finale short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The water felt like cold steel slapping him in the face, and that was the last thing Will remembered before woke to the smell of dogs and the shampoo he and Molly shared on the pillows. The pine walls and landscape photography made him wonder if he was dreaming.

His face hurt, his jaw was stiff, the cheek tender and puffy. Hell, wisdom teeth removal was a breeze compared to this. He sat up, disoriented and drunk. A quick survey of himself showed careful stitching in his shoulder where Dolarhyde’s knife had bit deeply. It looked like the fishing line from the basement. 

“Hannibal?” He croaked. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood on wobbling legs. Someone, presumably Hannibal, maybe himself, had changed him into an undershirt and flannel sleep pants. There was a glass of water on the nightstand and two large pills.

Panic, discomfort, maybe indignation should have been the foremost reaction to knowing he’d been seen so intimately. Will found himself simply worried for his safety, for both their safety. While the FBI had combed the house after Dolarhyde’s attack, and Molly tucked away in a hospital room, it still wasn’t secure. The cabin wasn’t as remote as his previous home in Wolf Trap, and his neighbors enjoyed stopping by to check in. More importantly to let their two girls play with the dogs while they probed Molly and himself for morbid tid bits of cases he’s worked on.

A trip to the bathroom mirror, bumping painfully into the walls and knocking his shoulder against the doorframe, revealed an angry looking gash that ran from mid cheek nearly to his hairline. The fact that it didn’t damage his eye was a blessing. It also confirmed the stitching was the fishing line, and that his beard had been shaved the day before. 

After relieving his bladder, a quick glance at the aggravating digital clock let him know he’d been out of it for two days. A day over from his normal schedule. Typically his phone alerted him, but his phone was probably somewhere in the Atlantic waiting to be discovered by a diver. The spare bottle and syringe were still in the medicine cabinet. Nothing had been moved since he’d left for Baltimore.

Creaking floorboards and the occasional thump from downstairs drew him to the living room. Navigating the stairs had been a bit precarious, but he’d made it by walking sideways, hugging the railing. 

“Good morning, Will.”

The voice made him jump, and Will winced as abdominal scar tissue pulled. Hannibal at least looked concerned when he glanced up at the man standing in the foyer. He’d washed the trousers and sweater. The bullet hole was stained brown with old blood, and revealed a glimpse of the clean white bandages beneath. 

“Good morning, Hannibal.” He finally replied, easing himself onto the couch. “Would it be rude to ask if there’s any breakfast waiting?”

“I’m afraid your refrigerator is a bit sparse, however, I believe there is enough for an omelette.”

“That would be excellent right now. Coffee’s in the cabinet next to the microwave, if you want some.” Will’s jaw ached the more he spoke. He hoped Hannibal would carry whatever conversation they would have over breakfast, or better yet, say nothing at all.

 

Hannibal was silent when Will sat at the island that served as the dinner table in the narrow kitchen. He looked out of place surrounded by heavy, speckled ceramic dinnerware and dated appliances. The half-full treat jar behind the other man caused a pang of guilt as Hannibal carefully portioned the overlarge omelette between the two of them.

The eggs were amazing, considering the limited options available. Lightly salted, pepper, thyme, and a bit of the tarragon that Molly bought but never got to use. The filling was seared button mushrooms, cooked until the canned taste was practically imperceivable, and block cheddar. It probably wasn't to Hannibal’s taste, but when you bought groceries to accommodate a preteen, you had to make sacrifices. 

Finally Will couldn't take it. The heavy silence practically weighed him down, made his shoulder hurt and his face sting with every bite of food. “Well, now you know.”

Hannibal hummed in response with a falsely quizzical look. “Know what?”

“About,” he gestured to his torso and groin with a fork, “ _this_.”

It took what seemed ages for Hannibal to respond. He typically chose his words carefully, but more so now. He finished the last piece of pale yellow egg on his plate before he spoke. “I had suspected. It is nothing to be ashamed of, Will.”

“I’m not. Why should I be?”

“You are used to be treated differently afterwards.”

Hannibal was right. He was used to disgust, awkward silence, or uncomfortably probing questions, particularly when it was discovered he’d not gone through the lower surgery yet. Margot had been the only partner who asked nothing. He purposefully left it out of their sessions. Will’s face felt hot, scorching along the knife wound. “Yeah,” he replied bitterly. “And am I to assume you will be the exception?”

“I will not pry into your past, Will. That is your’s to keep or to share.”

“For once,” Perhaps it sounded more bitter than he'd intended. Will pushed the last few pieces of egg around before deciding he couldn't eat anymore. The right side of his face felt swollen. “Breakfast was good.”

There was a slight nod of acknowledgement as he took up the plates. He watched while Hannibal cleaned the dishes and placed them in the half empty dishwasher. He looked happy, genuinely happy despite the lackluster surroundings. 

“We will need to move soon,” Hannibal said, rousing Will from the contemplative daze he’d been lulled into. He’d been caught staring at Hannibal’s hands.

Will nodded and gingerly stood. He felt like he’d been in a car accident. Everything, every joint, every old scar was sore. They had been lucky the water didn't kill them on impact. He wondered if Hannibal felt the same. There was no perceivable discomfort in his movements.

 

When Will stood at the bottom of the narrow staircase, looking up at the top step with a grimace, Hannibal came to his side. He’d asked if he’d rather have help or simply take the couch. Will wanted his bed, the comforting smell of dogs and tea tree oil. 

Before he could respond, he felt a hand at his side, steadying him as they took a step at a time. The wood was cold under his feet, but he understood why Hannibal did not light a fire. “Has anyone stopped by?”

“No.”

When he sat down on the mattress, it felt like heaven. The glass of water was offered to him, along with the two pills: Percocet and an antibiotic. He didn’t ask where they came from.

“Are you trying to drug me, Dr. Lecter?” When Hannibal didn't respond, Will added “Poor attempt at a joke, sorry.”

“You have quite a bit to process, Will-“

“ _Don’t_. Please. Don’t treat me like a patient right now.”

“And how would you like me to treat you?”

Will leaned back across the bed and watched the immobile ceiling fan, which had collected too much dust and dog hair. “I don’t know: A friend? Someone I killed for? Just not my therapist.”

“It is interesting to know you would be willing to kill for a friend.”

He felt the bed dip and creak as Hannibal sat next to him. He felt the warmth of him against his thigh. “Only if I loved them.”

It hung in the air like the guilt over his dogs. He felt Hannibal still, heard the breath stutter just for a moment. He’d truly surprised him. Will found it a relief to let it out. The knot that hung in his gut when he thought about the possibility was no longer there after it left his lips. He loved him. 

While he’d loved Molly, she had been his last grasp of normality. A lie he was telling himself. In truth, he couldn't see them married ten years down the line, arguing over who would go grocery shopping. Perhaps Molly knew. He hoped she would wait until after the hospital bills are paid off before deciding anything. His insurance plan was better. 

He was aware, dimly, that Hannibal was speaking. The painkiller made him feel limp and pliant, and the hand placed just above his knee was pleasantly warm. “Hannibal,” he interrupted.

“Later, Will. Get some rest.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Clarice” Will said quickly after Hannibal had paused his conversation about a missed opportunity to see Osmo Vänskä conduct at the Harpa concert hall. While he’d enjoyed the man’s enthusiasm on the subject, Will hadn't paid much attention since dinner. So much buzzed in his mind that he couldn’t focus on how a strange series of events prevented Hannibal from going to Iceland. It had been bubbling about, constantly on the edge of his tongue.

Bedelia’s last supper with the two of them had been cooked on a cheap stove a day’s journey from their port in Reykjavik. Afterwards they would have the now customary cup of evening coffee.

Hannibal stood next to the temperamental percolator. The counter was barely level with his hips. Will was afraid to look at him directly, not wanting to read the expression or lack thereof on the other man’s face. The name had felt so alien in his mouth, hearing his voice say it.

Over the sound of spitting and hissing coffee, Will clarified: “That was my name - before.”

When he finally steeled himself to look at Hannibal, he’d already returned to the table. The tin mugs clanked together in his grasp and the one with extra sugar was placed in front of Will. “Most patients hide or bury their past lives, in my experience. Though I cannot speak for the majority. Thank you for telling me, Will.” The smile seemed genuine.  

He appreciated the response, and how the bench seat gave under Hannibal’s weight. It pulled him closer. He no longer flinched at the brush of knuckles against his thigh or the feeling of a hand at the small of his back. Touch was becoming less of an unpleasant reminder and more reassuring. He had a support again.

Waking up to a heavy arm draped over his waist, or the warmth of breath against his neck no longer alarmed him. He’d initially expected the cramped quarters to be uncomfortable during the voyage, but found an intimacy in them. There was a closeness, a level of understanding there that Molly could never provide. 

He hoped she and Wally were alright.

 

Who would Hannibal choose for their new identities, he wondered as they took turns in the closet of a bathroom after the mugs had been rinsed clean. He sat on the edge of the bed with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth waiting while Hannibal took a birdbath. Would he get to choose? New immigrants, or perhaps two tourists unlucky enough to be rude at the wrong moment? 

Hannibal could pull off a charade of being a local, but Will wasn’t confident in how own acting abilities. He was too backwoods American.

He wiped at the toothpaste that dribbled down his chin. Laundry could wait until they made landfall. He didn’t think Hannibal could stand another morning seeing hand soap or Super Goop wreaking havoc on the clothes. 

“I believe what I will look forward to the most is a hot shower,” Hannibal said as the accordion door slid open. His hair was wet and unruly. The faint scent of the tea tree shampoo he and Molly used clung to him as they traded places.

After spitting out a mouthful of minty foam, he said thickly: “And food that doesn’t come from a can. Not bashing your skills, but it's hard to mask that flavor.” Will rinsed his mouth out with stale water and splashed some over his face. His reflection looked gaunt and windburned. The sea spray made his scalp itch. 

He eyed the near empty bottle of shampoo before deciding he was too tired to bother. It could wait until they found a hotel. He'd throw the shampoo away and try something new. Maybe sandalwood.

Hannibal was reading when he finished. During the trip he had unearthed every stray book in the cabin: The three books Will kept, the two Molly left behind, and the trashy Harlequin she’d bought at a grocery store in Key Largo. They had laughed at the awful writing together, taking turns reading the horrendous passages. Would Hannibal stay up until ridiculous hours in the morning snorting over the various descriptors the author used for dicks? He doubted he’d take part, but perhaps would listen in good humor. 

The bed creaked noisily as he settled in beside Hannibal. Close enough he could see the chosen book was The Hotel New Hampshire. It was one of the few Will could read multiple times and never grow tired of. Without his glasses, he couldn’t tell which part of the story Hannibal had reached.

“You have good taste in stories, Will.” Hannibal said when he’d noticed Will watching him turn blurred pages. 

“It’s one of my favorites. Have you met Suzie yet?”

Hannibal hummed in response. “You identified with her.”

Will hadn’t really thought about it. He rolled onto his stomach and winced when he tried to prop himself up with his right arm. The stitches were out but he still couldn’t put much weight on it. “Maybe. There was a lot going on when I first bought it.”

Either reaching the end of a chapter, or simply losing interest, Hannibal closed the book. “Was Molly privy to your past?”

“Yeah." He almost laughed. "She had to be. Mostly for Wally’s sake, because the day he figured out why stepdad always used the stall was going to happen eventually. It was up to her to explain it, as fucked up as that is. I was still pretty much just the guy mom took up with at that point.” Will sat up and leaned against the wood paneling. His shoulder was stiff. “He took it better than finding out I was institutionalized, but it was still a rough week: Slammed doors, petulant ignoring, typical preteen reaction. Then he was back to his usual self.

“We went fishing that weekend. He got to ask all the embarrassing questions without his mom around.”

“It made you uncomfortable?”

“I’d be lying to myself if I said no, but he’s a kid. The only thing he’d ever seen about transsexuality has been in that anime stuff he likes to watch.”

It was nice to be able to speak freely. Will couldn’t find the urge to become defensive or deflective. “I’m sure you found the photo in there.”

“You were remarkably beautiful, and you still are.”

He felt his neck grow hot and laughed. “I was a lot less scarred back then though. And pock marks are easy to cover up.”

“Scars do not detract from an individual’s beauty, Will.”

“No,” he thought of the dense tissue that marked Hannibal’s back. The Verger family emblem stamped across the skin. He often found himself wanting to touch the ridges of the heraldic boar, wanting to ask if there was any sensation. He thought of the dulled area under his own cheekbone where the blade sunk deepest. “No they don’t.” 

“You are deflecting compliments, Will.”

“That's my specialty.” 

“You should try to accept them more often.” Hannibal sat up. Will caught the ghost of a grimace in the movement. Dolarhyde was either an expert shot or Hannibal was lucky, a clean path through and through. “While I understand your reasoning, it would help you better accept yourself.”

His stomach had a nervous flutter that he tried to hide by keeping his voice flat when he responded with: “Well, thank you, Doctor.” 

He’d stolen glances during the voyage while Hannibal cooked, or helped him adjust the rigging. Will was slowly coming to terms with his own feelings of love towards the man. It was like loving a big cat. He wondered if he’d ever be able to safely turn his back.

His face felt flushed, and he was grateful for the dying light bulb in the bathroom. With his heart pounding in his ears and his stomach roiling, Will brought his lips to Hannibal’s. Just a light touch, waiting for a reaction or either his resolve to crumble first.

The answering groan and mouth opening to his sent heat to his groin. His tongue tasted like mint mingled with the faint peanutty hint of cheap coffee. Hannibal’s hands remained respectfully above his hips, pushing the undershirt up his torso as he was encouraged onto the man’s lap. Will broke free to pull the shirt over his head and toss it behind them. 

Yellow light cast harsh shadows over Hannibal’s sharp features. Will could barely make out his eyes at this distance. His glasses sat in the nook behind the pillows, but he didn’t want them. Not for this. His nerves were still too shaky to face this with such clarity.

He nearly jerked away when Hannibal took his hand, embarrassed by how much they trembled. Will’s fingertips were pressed to Hannibal’s lips before he felt the scrape of teeth and hot breath engulf two of the digits. He bucked his hips and saw the amusement. He didn’t need glasses to see how proud Hannibal was of evoking that response. 

“I want you to-“ Will fumbled for the right phrase, and settled on: “fuck me;” then added with a shuddered gasp: “please.” 

His fingers were released, slick and cold in the air. Hannibal kissed him roughly as Will rose up enough to awkwardly take off his boxers. Their teeth clacked together in the motion, provoking a breathy laugh from them both at the absurdity of fumbling around like teenagers. It eased the nervousness that plagued the pit of his stomach, as a rising heat took it’s place when he felt the bulge press against his lips. All that separated them was flimsy, faded silk. Hand soap hadn’t been forgiving on the expensive fabric.

He felt Hannibal say his name against his mouth. The husky tone traveled down Will’s spine and teeth scraped his lower lip. 

“I don’t have any lube. I’m fine if we do this the good old fashioned way. _”_ He said when he lifted his hips so Hannibal could remove his shorts. His knee bumped into Will's ass as he shook them off. It was endearing how unrefined Hannibal was in this moment. No smooth, calculated gestures. If Will wasn’t mistaken, he’d think Hannibal was just as nervous as he.

A week’s worth of graying beard growth tickled his lips as he experimentally brushed his teeth against the other man’s jaw. Fingers dug into his hips in response and encouraged him to find something more tender. The spot right below his ear earned him the sharp exhale and throaty moan he wanted to hear. 

Worrying at Hannibal’s neck, Will snaked his hand between them to grasp Hannibal firmly. Fingernails cut sharply as he guided him past the thick hair that could only hide so much. It stung initially, prompting him to take it slower, needing to grow used to the breadth of him. It’d been almost two decades since he’d been with a man.

He felt a finger lifting his chin and met Hannibal’s gaze. The man’s thumb pressed against his lips as they watched each other. He didn’t want to avert his eyes, didn’t feel the urge to hide as he rocked against Hannibal. It was a slow, rolling pace that unconsciously mimicked the movement of the boat.

Will was lost in the sensation of it all. Warmth and sweat; the slickness of Hannibal’s cock in him; the deafening sound of their breathing as the waves slapped the hull and the boat creaking. He opened his mouth and recreated Hannibal’s earlier actions on his thumb. 

The relaxed pace quickened when Hannibal folded his legs under himself to meet Will’s thrusts.  The thumb pulled at the corner of his mouth as Hannibal reached behind him, leaving a trail of his own saliva form his mouth to his ear. He felt his hair pulled, forcing his head back, exposing the long expanse of his neck to sharp teeth. He didn't resist and closed his eyes, fully trusting Hannibal in this moment. Maybe it was stupid of him, but he couldn't find enough effort to care. The bite was powerful, but not brutal. It hinted at what he was capable of, and Will answered with a constricted moan.

His fingers clutched Hannibal’s shoulders for support, drawing them close, bellies flush. The grip on his hair relaxed and he felt breath tickle his ear, coming in hot puffs. “You remarkable boy,” he heard Hannibal groan against his cheek as his orgasm brought them both over.

He rested his forehead against Hannibal’s, enjoying the humid warmth as they regained their breath. He thought he’d feel strange afterwards, like he betrayed some unspoken rule written somewhere. Will felt nothing but contentment, maybe a bit sleepy. 

Before he succumbed to the latter, he needed to clean up. He imagined Hannibal would as well. He didn’t exactly take him for a guy to sleep in the wet spot.

When they were dried and the sheets fluffed, Will settled down. He’d given his boxers a passing glance where they laid crumpled on the floor. He didn’t feel the need to hide from Hannibal.

They’d sail into port late tomorrow evening.

**Author's Note:**

> A sketch and more details about the photo can be found on my blog: http://morlocksashimi.tumblr.com/post/128347032693/follow-up-sketch-for-cevzemore-i-imagine-will
> 
> Additionally: For those of you following Medea, I apologize for the delay in updates, but I needed a mental break from it.


End file.
